Satisfaction
by ohcptmycaptain
Summary: AU: Fitzgerald Grant and Olivia Pope must confront their relationship issues when Olivia confesses to having an affair. Warnings: BDSM, NSFW, adultery.
1. 1

His world teeters on the edge of destruction as she explained what occurred a fortnight ago. His heart rammed in his chest and palms slowly secreted wetness further illuminating his discomfort. As she reviewed the details of her affair, he admittedly could not breathe. The white noise offered by the overhead fan of their bedroom only drowned out some of her speech. Nevertheless, the charged words continued to make its presence in his mind long after she had rolled away and went to sleep. He sucked in a hollow breath. His wife, his beautiful, enigmatic wife was an adulterer.

In some sick and twisted way, he understood that it was atonement for his sins. The sins that had led to their marriage, created three children and bonded them for nearly twenty years. Now, he could not bear to rest his hand on her hip as he had for so many years. He could not touch her. His privilege to touch her without restraint had been stripped from him. She admitted her affair, citing the lack of intimacy in their marriage but he could not agree. Had she forgotten that he only breathed, lived and participated in life because she (and now their children) was all he ever needed? Swallowing thickly, he leaned forward and rested his lips to the base of her skull. The wispy curls of her hair tickled his lips as it had every night for so many years. Gulping, he pushed away his pride and placed one final kiss to the back of her neck. She grumbled in her sleep but sunk further against him.

"Good night, Livie," He murmured and moved away again to rest on his back.

The following morning was filled with familiar shouts from their children. The clashing sounds of their stampeding feet bursting through the kitchen door only exasperated his headache. Groaning, he rubbed gently at his temples and inhaled another deep breath of his coffee. The fragrant brew enraptured him and he tentatively placed his lips to the brim. His son bumped into the table and tipped the steaming cup down the front of Fitzgerald's pressed white shirt. He sighed heavily and raised a hand to quiet his son's desperate apologies. His lips twisted into a pained smile and he clapped his son on the back.

"It's just a shirt, kiddo. No big deal," He replied tightly.

The searing coffee had begun to sink into his skin. He cleared his throat and exited the kitchen. His children's bickering followed him down the hall. As he reached the grand staircase, he was winded. Resting against the bannister, he briefly reflected how his life was turned upside down. Taking a breath, he began his ascent up the stairs. A nagging and persistent pain drummed in his chest but he locked it away. The symptoms of a broken heart were not congruent to his schedule today. His emotions would need to be tightly shut away until he could find ample time to grieve. Twisting the doorknob, he stopped suddenly upon hearing his wife's phone conversation.

"White – I am wearing white," She murmured demurely and her lips broadened into a cheeky grin.

Clearing his throat, he made his presence known as he moved further into their bedroom. Olivia made short apologies over the phone. Clicking the top small button, her lively phone shut down and locked. She tossed the iphone onto their bed and continued dressing. Fitzgerald was flabbergasted. Were they truly going to pretend that he had not just walked in on her cheekily flirting with whomever. His eyes roamed over her lithe frame. Since his arrival, she had slipped into a classical black pencil skirt and was wrestling the shirt over her shoulders. He swallowed thickly noticing the ornate white bra that she had chosen. He imagined that her panties and garter likely matched. Swallowing again, he sighed and shook his head. He took a seat on the bed and rubbed his temples. He could not continue to pretend that this wasn't affecting him – affecting them and their life. He made a cutthroat decision.

"What," She snapped clearly annoyed.

Squaring his shoulders, he began undoing the buttons of his shirt. He felt a deep sense of contentment knowing that this charade would not carry on for much longer. As the shirt slid from his shoulders, he folded it in half and tossed it atop the hamper. Ignoring her, he entered their adjoining washroom and brought a cloth to his reddened chest. The coffee had scathed his skin but he doubted it would mar or scar him. He dapped with the cold clothe at his skin careful to not aggravate the tender flesh. He practically jumped when her hand wrapped around his waist. Her body was flush against his back. Her peaked nipples strained against her shirt and brushed his back. His position stiffened and he turned on the faucet to wash out the rag. Her hand tightened around his waist and drifted slowly to the buckle of his pants. His eyes bulged in surprise and temper flared when his traitorous body responded to her touch. Gently, he grasped her wrist and removed her person from his. Facing her, he noticed the evident shock on her features but remained silent. His features were etched stonily. His lips were pressed into a firm line and eyes closed briefly to will his erection away.

"Baby," She purred and broke his focus.

Her hands outstretched to touch him again but he stepped back and away. Her brows rose quickly in recognition of his rejection. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders, he recognized the pose – she was readying for battle. Shaking his head, he wryly smirked and ran a hand through his hair. How could his beautiful, enigmatic wife possibly defend this? He had seen her work. When she stood in a courtroom, there was not a single person who dared not watch her. Her energy was entrancing. It had been what drew him to her immediately. He had sat across the room, staring at her, completely bewitched by her vigor and dumbfounded when the judge asked him to cross-examine the witness. Her sexy smirk and quiet comment that he should stop staring at her ass and cross-examine the witness made a fool of him, but how couldn't he be a fool for her? He had been a fool ever since.

"Livvie," He attempted but his voice was too gentle. He wanted to convey his convictions without swaying at his point.

"Olivia," He repeated his tone firmer and hand slipped into his pocket to grasp the rubber band. He twisted it between his fingers and maneuvered it into various shapes. The shapes held his focus and he felt stronger twisting his emotions into the rubber band while leveling with her.

"I know my name, Fitz," She teased and smirked.

"I am sure that he does too," Fitz choked out angrily.

He clenched his eyes shut in embarrassment. He had vowed to take the high road and not bring up her affair. It was the demise of their relationship, but he was an adult. He could discuss the state of their marriage without bringing up the one thing that plagued him. At least, he thought that he could. His raw emotions were overpowering him. They fluctuated from anger to pain to anger to disbelief. He was still reeling from the sudden twist of emotions that he nearly missed her agreement.

"I deserved that," Olivia agreed quietly.

Her hand reached out to touch him again and he jerked away more fiercely than intended. The evident shock was written clearly across her face. Her lips were parted in surprise and brow knitted to express her discontentment. He shook his head in apology and both hands slid through his hair to calm his temper. Sighing heavily, he turned and walked away. The many emotions were overtaking him and he refused to argue with her. He could not argue with anyone when he could not think straight. Per usual, she followed him huffing indignantly.

"Not now, Olivia," He commented and moved into their closet.

He began rifling through his shirts. He had a meeting in two hours one that he could not miss. If they began arguing now, he would never make it out of here. He pushed the dark shirts away and snatched a white shirt off the hanger. Tugging the shirt over his shoulders, he quickly began to button it up. He attempted to exit the closet but she blocked the doorway. He repeated his earlier sentiment: not now. She was undeterred. He attempted to step around her but she followed his step blocking his exit. Clenching his jaw, he angrily began twisting the sleeves of his shirt flipping it to rest at his elbows. Grinding his teeth, he finally huffed and threw up his hands in defeat.

"You want to do this now." He argued, "Fine, let's do this."

Grasping her wrist, he tugged her into the closet and slammed the door shut behind her. They stood silently. His heavy breathing broke the silence. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he let out a harsh breath. He moved toward the door but she grabbed his arm. Yanking his arm away, he stood in front of the door with his back to her. It was cowardice but he could not face her as she detailed her affair again. He massaged the sudden lump in his throat and bitterly swallowed.

"Why," He choked miserably, "Why did you-"

His sentence broke off unable to continue.

"Sex," She supplied simply.

He turned around slowly reeling in disbelief. What? Sex? He must have misunderstood. Had his wife turned into a deviant that required sex more than what they were having? In retrospect, he realized how silly that idea sounded. He would have appreciated more sex too. In fact, he often dreamt of whisking her away for the weekend and never leaving bed. Between their personal work schedules and their children's hectic schedules, they were engaging with each other barely three times a week. There were moments when he had grown restless but he never strayed. His hand developed callouses from many 3am showers jerking determinedly into his own hand.

"You don't touch me anymore," She softly acknowledged.

His eyes bulged in surprise still disbelieving her explanation. His temper grew with each passing word. Instead of communicating her desire to him, she had sought another. He was stunned beyond measure. Nevertheless, he was determined to listen to this. If only to fuel his own desires and close the book on this chapter of his life.

"Did you hear me," She asked patiently.

"Ye-yeah. Yeah, I heard you," He acknowledged croakily, "Is that it?"

He winced. 'Is that it' was certainly not eloquent or how he should had staged the question. He bit his lower lip to stop further discussion. She determinedly continued, her hands clasping and twisting displaying her anxiety. He wanted to reassure her. His hands itched to cover hers but he resisted. Nothing good would come from it now if he touched her.

"No," She challenged, "You don't touch me like you used to, Fitz."

"Our schedules—" He began but she cut him off.

"Are shit," She finished, "But you've lost the spontaneity. This will—"

She huffed, "This goes against every principle I ever argue for, but—"

She paused clearly anticipating a comment from him but he had none.

"Fine," Olivia snapped, "Our sex life is boring. I am bored. You're boring." She continued on harshly, "Our sex is to maintain contentment. There's no passion or spontaneity anymore. We rarely touch outside of the bedroom. Yes, I know that I have complained about your previous wandering hands in public and aggression when you're jealous. I know that I asked you not to touch me sexually in front of the kids, friends, and family and—at work, jesus!" She exclaimed and released a heavy breath.

"What happened to that? I might've admonished you after Abby caught us that one time but I was never asking you to stop. What happened to the man that would 'stop by' for lunch?" She asked pointedly.

His brows knit in confusion, "We just had lunch together yester—"

She cut him off and exasperatedly explained, "I want to be the main course! Not go to a restaurant. Hell, I'll even settle for dessert. And restaurants – you used to finger me under the table. Where did that—"

He broke her dialogue, "You cheated on me because I stopped fornicating with you in public and fucking you over a desk." He asked angrily.

"No," She countered determinedly. Her teeth gnashed and she clenched her eyes shut to take a steadying breath.

"No." She repeated firmly, "I sought someone who wants me, who makes me feel wanted, who…"

She exhaled, "I waited for you. My whole life is you. I can't breathe because I am waiting for you to—

"I want you," He burst out angrily. "I wait for you. I watch for you. You think I don't want to dedicate myself to our marriage? You don't think I want to touch you, spend more time with you, kiss you whenever I want?"

His cheeks flushed as he angrily lashed out, "I love you. I'm in love with you. You're the love of my life. My every feeling, my every touch is controlled by the look on your face. I cannot breathe without you. Fuck, I can't sleep without you. I wait for you. I watch for you. I—"

He choked.

Clearing his throat, he continued, "I exist for you."

"You think I don't want you," He shook his head sadly, "I belonged to you."

"Fitz," She breathed and reached out for him.

He stepped away and his back hit the closet door, "We were in this together."

"Fitz, I-I am—" She tried but the words dissolved on her tongue.

He nodded curtly and turned to open the closet door. Stopping in the frame, he murmured, "I'll be home late." He refused to argue with her any further. Grabbing his briefcase from beside their bedroom door, he stormed downstairs, kissed their children 'goodbye' and left.

Standing in the center of their closet, his scent wafting from his clothes and filling her, Olivia realized what a cataclysmic mistake she had made.

* * *

Thank you for reading.

Constructive criticism welcome.

Warnings: BDSM, adultery, NSFW.

Future chapters will contain (very) explicit content.


	2. 2

Tapping the pencil anxiously to her desk's top, she sighed impatiently and glanced back at the clock mounted on her wall. Two minutes had passed. Her focus had swiftly deteriorated in the past three weeks. She could no longer focus on menial tasks. Instead, she was always checking her phone silently praying that her husband would call.

The partners of her shared law firm - Whelan, Wright and Pope had even noticed. While she equally adored the company of her closest friends and business partners, Olivia was not keen to share news concerning her marriage. Both Abby and Harrison had expressed concern for Olivia's most recent unfocused behavior. She had shrugged it off, refusing to answer their intuitive questions and disengaged in any conversation where her husband was mentioned. The truth was - she hadn't the slightest clue how her husband was doing. After confessing her affair two weeks previously, her husband had avoided her at every turn.

He had not moved out for the mental well being of their kids. Yet, he had taken to crashing most nights in his office under the guise of working. The nights that she could not find him in his office, she would find him crawled in bed with their only daughter, hand resting on her thick dark curls and challenging snores vibrating off the walls. There were many instances that she yearned to join them. Nevertheless, she resisted determined to allow him space and not overcrowd him. He was never a particularly complex man when it came to emotions. They were, for the most part, always quite clear about their stances.

Running a hand through her hair, she sighed in frustration. She missed Fitz terribly. Her heart yearned for his affection and throbbed painfully to outpour her love for him. The affection she held had never waned. She loved Fitz. There wasn't anything not to love about him. He was dedicated to their family. He worked hard to provide for all of them incase she ever decided to stop working. It was a brief discussion that they had before their marriage. At the time, his act of chivalry and declaration that he would be the sole "breadwinner" angered her. She was livid for days until he finally confronted her, albeit uncomfortably. His confession of traditional values had not surprised her. She knew of Fitz's heritage within the Republican Party. Nevertheless, she had willed herself to listen with an open mind and what he said astounded her. Growing up in a family where his mother was rarely respected offered him perspective. He never wanted the woman that he cherished to feel anything other than that. As it was his privilege to live with her, be with her, hold and touch her, he admitted no apologies for earning her every day. It had seemed draconian at first but Fitz truly took care of her merely due to his nurturing nature. Her phone chirped ushering her thoughts of Fitz away.

She recognized the number immediately and deleted the message. A sense of regret sat in the pit of her stomach. Weeks ago, she would have looked forward to his message all day. Her fingers were practically glued to her phone waiting for him to call, text or merely acknowledge her existence. Now, she felt anxious and violently ill. He was a constant reminder of her unfaithfulness - of her mistake. Olivia bitterly recognized her mistake shortly after the distance settled between she and Fitz. While she had contemplated the consequences of her affair for weeks, she had been too blind, too drunk from lust and too eager to enjoy the forbidden pleasures offered to her to stop or evaluate. Rubbing her temples, she used the opposite hand to turn on the phone. She opened the Facebook app, scrolled through Twitter and even updated her LinkedIn profile. The mobile remained painfully silent as she completed tasks willing Fitz to text. She had finally given up. Relaxing back into the chair with a huff, she practically jumped when the screen lit again. Her eyes widened and hastily scrambled to read the message from her husband.

"Home late today," She sighed disappointedly and pursed her lips, "Kiss the kids for me - thanks."

She read his text aloud once more for clarity. It was not particularly ambiguous but she was determined to analyze it. Why would he come home late? He always worked "late" at home in order to spend more time together as a family. She chewed her lip. Work had never kept him longer than 5pm. It was a principle that he adopted after yearning for his father's affection as a boy. Family first, he never took time away from their children (and her). Glancing to her landline, she picked up the receiver and hesitantly dialed his number. He picked up on the first ring. His laughter echoed in her ear and she instantly warmed. It seemed like years since she heard his boisterous and unapologetic laugh. Her lips quirked excitedly, but she remained silent to hear it continue.

His laughter died down and he cleared his throat politely, "I apologize, we just filmed the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge and surprise attacked the mayor. How may I help you?"

She snorted with laughter and quickly slapped a hand to her lips. She still hadn't worked up the courage to say anything.

"Liv-Olivia," He hastily corrected himself. "Olivia, are you alright?"

Her smile dropped instantly at his correction.

She frowned and steeled her nerves, "Yes."

She released a breath, "Yes, I am fine. I wanted to inquire why you'd be home late. I am making spaghetti for dinner."

"Sounds good," He remarked.

"So," She paused pointedly.

"You'll be home regular time." She began, but he spoke too soon and their sentences mixed.

"The kids will enjoy it," He finished.

Olivia was unable to hide her disappointment. Twiddling the cord between her fingers, she kicked off her heels and tucked her bare feet beneath her bum. She remained still on the line waiting for him to answer. Combing her fingers through her hair, she rested her head against the cushion of her chair. She listened to his soft breaths of assignable punctuated by a deeper intake. She remembered a time when they were apart and had merely listened to each other breathe for hours. When she left the city, state or even the country, he would call her every night and they would set up FaceTime to sleep together. His shallow breaths lulled her to sleep and his deep 6am snores was always her preferred alarm clock. Lord, how she missed him.

"I gotta go, Livvie." He murmured and she could hear a woman in the background.

"Fitz," She painstakingly breathed willing him to not go.

Silence.

Finally, she heard him sigh and relent, "I'll try to be home earlier than I planned. I'll see you at home, sweet baby."

He hung up before he could continue. The endearment had not passed his lips in two weeks. His lapse of judgment was only punctuated by the smirk of his longtime confidant. He grumbled and rubbed a hand over his face. "Lets get started," He muttered and grabbed his jacket to leave.

Tom laughed affectionately, "Don't be such a wet dog."

He snorted sarcastically and pocketed his items. Crossing the room, he held the door open for their departure. Tom stopped in the frame and clapped his back, "It will be okay."

He smiled tightly and ushered him out without another word. Tom could talk enough for the both of them.

The screeching tires of the Porsche 918 Spyder punctuated their sudden arrival to the dive bar. The bar was already crowded with blue and white-collar employees alike. A rickety hand-painted sign hung over the door and despite its poor spelling declared, "no gurls aloud." Since its inception, the bar had staunchly declared that it was a boys club only. In experience, women would often visit and vehemently opposing ever attending again. The bar was, to be frank, very man's dream equipped with all the leisure often attributed to their sex. Shaking his head, Fitzgerald quickly unbuckled the belt and hopped out of the car. He fondly remembered the days when his greatest love was his sports car. Since then, he had traded it in for a more "practical vehicle." He could not admit any regrets.

He had traded in the sports car upon the birth of his daughter. Despite Tom's clear happiness and sense of adventure, he would always choose his family. His stomach sunk, he was not sure how much longer his family would last. Every day, the distance between he and Olivia grew. Fitz knew it was partially his fault. He had taken to hiding away in his office at night and "working late." Eventually, he would crash on his couch and call it a night. The routine was so unexpected and jarring to him. He never slept away from his wife. He would eventually succumb to his loneliness and opt to cuddle with their daughter. Every day, he held onto his children a little longer before school. The life that he always dreamed of was slipping away and Fitz could not help to feel that it was somehow all his doing.

The slam of Tom's door pulled from his thoughts and he shot his friend a disapproving look. Tom shrugged and chuckled lightly, "It's a rental. Baby is in the shop."

Snorting, he followed Tom into the bar, "Baby?" He teased.

Tom shot him a serious look, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, "Baby." He echoed pointedly and gave his friend a shove through the door.

A funky theme blared through the surround sound system pervading their senses and practically knocking Fitzgerald on his ass. Years ago, Olivia had discovered his appreciation for funk, R&B and rap. Her appreciation for his morphed into horror when she realized that all his musical education was solely attributed to this bar. He had a weekend crash course on what his wife deemed "the classics." His brief reminiscing brought a smirk to his lips as he steered through the crowd to reach a table. After retrieving their beers – two draft beers – Tom sat across from Fitz, who gulped his beer appreciatively. The silence stretched between them, Tom continued to sip his beer and wait for Fitz to begin. His friend had called this abrupt meeting citing necessary advice but had not divulged why. Bouncing his leg beneath the table, Fitz was growing more nervous with each second. He had not discussed his martial problems with anyone. The last thing he wanted was for Tom to burst out in laughter or worse – refer to his wife as something that would make Fitz hit him for it.

Clenching and unclenching his fist, he relaxed into the wooden seat. Tom's laughter caught his attention and he followed his line of sight to a man and his girlfriend. His girlfriend's nose was wrinkled in disgust and she very clearly was wary to sit on any furniture. She stood by the bar: arms crossed and watching her male partner shoot a round of pool. The bartender attempted to offer her a drink but she shook her head vehemently expressing her distaste.

Tom howled with laughter again, "Oh, man– he's getting no pussy tonight."

Fitz snorted, "That would be two of us."

Turning around, Tom cocked an eyebrow in invitation to continue. Fitzgerald motioned the waiter to bring him a scotch. He was going to need it. After a quick sip, which burned his lungs and made everything a little warmer, he ran a hand through his hair. His avoidance was palpable but Tom patiently waited for him to continue.

"She had an affair," Fitz admitted but quickly added, "Hey! Before, you go and trash her—"

Tom pursed his lips in annoyance and shook his head, "You know me better than that, man. I am just…" He paused and sipped his beer to find the right words, "ya know, shocked."

Fitz sighed, "She said that I was, and let me admit this was a quote, 'boring.'"

Tom stuttered an answer - he was clearly perplexed how to help him.

"She said that I am not spontaneous any longer. Her boredom stems from the fact that I am not fucking her against walls, over tables and fuck if I know where else," Fitz explained and brought the scotch to his lips again, "I don't understand. I thought that she wanted me to make love to her."

Tom nodded, "All chicks want that."

"Not my wife," Fitz supplied helpfully. "Not her. Apparently, she wants me to fuck her. My beautiful, intelligent wife told me that I no longer 'fuck her.' I did not even know how to explain to her that of course, I don't fuck her. She's my wife. I make love to her. You fuck girlfriends, one night stands, and side chicks but your wife—"

Tom interrupted, "There is your problem."

"Wha—" Fitz questioned, his brows furrowing in surprise.

"Okay," Tom cleared his throat, "I can't be elegant about this."

"Don't be, I need the truth," Fitz insisted.

"When you and Olivia began dating, you fucked her. I know that you swear it was love at first sight but you still fucked her, Fitz. There's nothing wrong with keeping fuckin' and making love separate. They are two different things. Yet, you do not need to give up one because the other exists. Haven't you ever just walked by her and wanted her right then, right now?" Tom questioned and Fitz quickly nodded his agreement.

"All the time," He admitted.

"In the kitchen, your eyes are always on her ass. Haven't you ever wanted to just bend her over the counter and fuck her," Tom asked purposefully.

"Yeah. Of course, I fuckin' did," Fitz grunted. Tom had to stop giving him powerful images of his wife or he would be holding the rickety table up. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, "Of course, I did. My wife is beautiful."

"Your wife is hot," Tom interrupted. "Sexy."

"Look, I love you like a brother but you keep talking about my wife and I'll knock your lights out," Fitz growled.

Tom laughed, "Hey, asshole, why don't you filter some that aggression toward your wife and go fuck her lights out."

He hesitated – the scotch rested against his lips and eyes dropped to the amber liquid. Swallowing his pride, he tipped the scotch back and wheezed a heavy breath. For a dingy bar, this place surely kept the good scotch on file. Clearing his throat, he made eye contact briefly with Tom and dug out his phone. He began to dial Olivia but Tom snatched the phone from his hand.

"What are you doin'," Tom asked ludicrously.

"I am calling to tell her that I am coming home," Fitz explained.

"No. Take your shit, call a cab, surprise her and fuck her on the first surface that you find," Tom instructed.

Fitz nodded, he would do exactly that.

* * *

**A/N: **

**Thank you so much for all the kind reviews. I am truly humbled by your excitement. **

In this chapter, I wanted to explain what Olivia meant by "boring" and why Fitz would be perceived this way. I hope that I conveyed, Fitz does not have any intentions to be boring. Yet, due to their schedules, they have fallen into a rhythm and lost their spontaneity. To address a few questions -

**1. Who did Olivia have an affair with? **  
At the moment, I do not intend to reveal nor bring him onto the scene. This story is solely about Fitz and Olivia with the occasional supporting character. I want this story to personify the consequences of miscommunication especially within relationships. A simple miscommunication or lack of communication can change an entire landscape. Unlike the show, I want Olivia and Fitz to actively participate in their relationship and work together.  
**2. Did Olivia cheat with Jake Ballard? **  
No. JB does not, will not, and cannot exist in my story. Thank you.  
**3. Will Fitz cheat on Olivia?  
**No. Absolutely not. Never.

**Thank you so much for reading. I hope this was equally satisfying as chapter one. **

Chapter three will contain explicit content, including but not limited to: language, sexual content, and certainly NSFW themes.


	3. 3

The cab drove languidly down the highway. He stopped breezily in traffic, never even attempted to run a light and always came to a complete stop at every sign. While he would usually appreciate the driver's diligence and willingness to enforce safety laws, today simply wasn't the day. Fitzgerald anxiously shifted in the seat again. He understood that he was merciless to the taxi driver. Despite his gentle urging that they should increase speed, his comments generally went unnoticed or brushed off by a nod of the head. The behavior was infuriating and Fitz was slowly losing his patience. He bounced his feet, hunching forward and rested on his elbows. His hand slid over his face, rubbing at the scruff and sighing heavily as each second passed without remark. He knew there was still at least another fifteen minutes until he arrived home. Clenching his teeth, he flung himself into the back seat and tapped his fingers on the baseboard. His phone chimed signaling a new message. Grunting, he dug it out and muttered "fucking perfect" upon noticing who it was. He deleted the message - no need to worry about that right now. He continued to drum his fingers against the warmed plastic and exhaled with relief as the taxi steered off the exit.

Upon arriving home, he practically jumped from the backseat. He barely reviewed the meter and instead pulled two large bills out of his wallet. The cabby attempted to explain and reason with him but Fitzgerald was hearing none of it. He snatched his work bag from the seat and stormed up the stone pathway to their home. The residual grout and leaves crunched beneath his heavy steps as he walked with purpose to their front door. Much to his bewilderment, the door slid open before he could further his endeavor in opening it. His brows rose in surprise that he quickly masked with a relaxed smile. His daughter, Charlotte was chatting animatedly to her best friend, Cecelia Whelan - Abby's oldest and only daughter. She had become a staple in the Grant household spending nearly or equal amount of time with them as she did at home. Their backs were turned and faces huddled together as they conspired in whispers. Clearing his throat loudly, both girls jumped saving them both from the expected run in when they eventually fled the house.

"Daddy," Charlotte, who he affectionately referred to as 'Charlie, ' squealed and shoved herself into his arms. He was grateful that his daughter had not embraced the belief that he was old, uncool and not worth acknowledging. Olivia had warned him not to get used to it. Tween hormones were up the one day and failing the next.

"Charlie," He acknowledged and pressed a kiss into her hair.

She beamed a smile in return and wrapped her arms tightly around his torso squeezing him snugly, "I am heading over to Cee's for a sleepover. Mom has a guest."

Guest. The color drained from his face and he stiffened in his daughter's arms. She sensed his discomfort and raised a brow in question to him but he comforted her with a strained smile. He escorted them out quickly and wished them both save travels. He stood in the doorway until they had crossed the street and entered the Whelan household. Releasing a heavy breath, he quietly closed the door behind him. The home smelt of simmering spaghetti sauce, his favorite, but he had initially decided on a different meal. Of course, his daughter had not known what she was implying. To her, Olivia's guest was innocent. He shouldn't rush to conclusions, he knew better but the trust in their marriage was fragmented. Now, he constantly considered every moment of her day and if she had taken time away to call her lover, see him, but worst of all - fuck him. No, he decided, that wasn't the worst. The worst was definitely that his beautiful wife may be falling in love with another man. She may be leaving him with every moment of his inaction. He rested against the wall and clutched his bag tightly, fleetingly, he wondered whether his action would have any effect on her.

He followed the corridor to the end leading to her study. As he swiftly walked, he could hear voices growing louder. A brief jolt of anger flashed through him, how could Olivia be so blasé about all of this? She had not even taken steps to keep their children from overhearing. He ground his teeth and paused in front of the door. He rationalized the situation. Olivia had made a poor choice but it had been reflective of his behavior. It had not been a direct retaliation to the children nor their family. Squaring his jaw, he sucked in a deep breath and dropped his bag by the door. The loud clunk of his MacBook - oops, and files from work drew a collective silence behind the door. His hand rested on the golden knob. He meant to turn it but the grooves caught his attention. The small carved initials into aged gold stole and held his attention. They had all become so accustomed that their little memories, little pieces of magic, were forgotten.

Stepping back, he grabbed his bag and hastily turned to the other door. He slid into his office with a breath of relief and dropped onto the worn, aged leather couch. Toeing off his shoes, he stood and began to explore his study. It was littered with children's artwork - the largest being a terrible bust of himself attributed to artist, Junior, age seven and smallest being a painted formally silver dollar by Max, aged 2. None of his pictures had collected dust but heavy fingerprints had collected on the glass. He lifted a particularly heavy wooden frame. His wife shone from the photograph. Her dark tendrils bouncing around her shoulders, wind pushing it out of her face, toes curled in the sand and hands gently resting on her small baby bump. He had believed that she would never be more beautiful than that moment. The heavens had surprised him of her following beauty with each pregnancy. He traced her smile with a heavy heart. Jesus, what had happened to them? The lump in his throat grew and he cleared to dissolve it again. Chewing his lip anxiously, he rested the frame down again.

"I remember when you begged to take that picture."

He jumped and subsequently spun around. His jaw tightened and shoulders tensed, he had not heard Olivia enter. He could not help but allow the desires of this evening to flood him. His body relaxed and he felt himself being drawn to her presence. For the first time in weeks, he looked at her. He really looked. His eyes traveled to hers, holding briefly, and continued his exploration of her. He traced the curve of her lips, jaw, and shoulders with his eyes. He admired how polished her hair was today, bone straight and resting by her neck. A simple longer bob with no embellishments – a classic look. Her elegant neck was bare from both jewels and love bites. At first, he was relieved but then he remembered how his lips and tongue used to leave them on her skin. He could recall her coo and moans when his teeth sunk into her skin, murmuring - "Mine." His cheeks flushed and he steered away from her neck to the simple cream blouse. Holy fuck, had she forgotten what cream colors did to him? He knew that a cream blouse meant white lingerie and suddenly, the air thickened, it was harder to breathe and he shuddered in excitement.

"Fitz," She acknowledged but their held question in her tone.

His eyes snapped back to hers but only for a second. The shirt hinted at an outline of her nipples. His dick twitched with excitement. His heart drummed louder, creating white noise and stirring him on. His skin broke into goose flesh as he perspired lightly. His eyes remained scrutinizingly on her breasts. She hadn't pumped today. There was a small swell above her bra. Jesus, she was spilling out of them. He silently acknowledged how her breasts would feel in his hands - full, heavy, and so sweet. His fingers flexed excitedly.

"Fitz," She snapped unintentionally betraying her annoyance, "Are you drunk?" Her face twisted into a sneer and he was taken aback.

Had he only allowed him to so perversely leer at his wife when intoxicated?

Had his hungry stares been reduced to drunk goggles? Apparently so.

He shook his head dejectedly, "No. No, Olivia. I was merely enjoying your presence."

She audibly choked.

"You were staring," She explained, "Leering."

His brow cocked, "So?"

He cleared his throat and thumbed through a book to keep his itching hands preoccupied, "I was enjoying the view."

"The view," She questioned and her arms crossed defiantly.

He snapped the book shut loudly and dropped it to his desk. He knew from her pose that she had chosen a fight. "Yeah, the view," He responded unapologetically. "I think that I am entitled to enjoy the damn view as you're my wife," He fired back. He wasn't sure where this energy of entitlement was coming from but he desperately hoped it wouldn't steer him wrong.

"I am not a toy," She angrily asserted, "You cannot play with me when you're lonely or horny."

"I am neither lonely nor ho-," He growled. He threw his hands up in exasperation. "I am not horny any more. I had full intentions of coming home, fuckin' my wife and ho-hoping that she would want me to. That's the problem, right? I make love to you but I'm not fuckin' you."

Her lips parted to speak but he trail-blazed on.

"But then, I get home and Charlie tells me that you got a guest. What the hell am I supposed to think? A guest? One that you're fuckin' after I told you I would be home late," He raged.

"No," She shouted defiantly hoping to break his stride.

"Jesus, Liv. I came home because I was hopin' you'd want me and here you are pissed off because I'm checkin' you out."

"I do want you," She desperately explained and crossed the room to him.

Here she was standing before him and Fitz had little positive emotion for her. It revolted him how quickly this downward spiral has ensued. Straightening his shoulders, he met her eyes powerfully. Her chin was tipped in his direction and breath tickled the stubble of his chin. He searched eyes for sincerity or even genuine concern that she had insulted him. To his chagrin, he found very little. His lips thinned to a tight frown. He glanced at her again and shook his head somberly, "Then, earn me. Earn me, Olivia. Earn back our marriage because right now, I'm searching for your fucks to give and they're loading slower than the Dell at work."

Stepping around her, he departed the study and headed to their bedroom. He entered and was surprised to see that the bed hadn't been made. Olivia was religious about orderliness and organization of their home. Making beds had been an activity that they enjoyed together. It was part of their daily routine, which had lasted twenty years. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, he tiredly fell onto his back. Almost immediately, he was drowned by her fresh scent in the linen. He moaned painfully and buried his face deeper in the sheets. Her accent scent that usually clung to his clothes had started to fade. He desperately clutched the sheet tighter, burying his nose deeper and inhaling her scent with deep gulps.

Releasing the linen, he imagined her lying next to him in the white lingerie she surely had on. He groaned and willed his mind to stop wandering. What good would it do? Fitzgerald knew that his body would never grow accustomed to her lack of presence. He was physically sore with the distance placed between them. Yet, in each passing second, he could not peace together a more viable solution. She had left their marriage, slept with presumably another man, and chastised him for 'leering' at her. It was cruel how much he loved her and how little regard she held for him. Had he made the right choice? He had placed the ball in her park again. He had insisted that she be the one who _earn_ him. Yet, was that all a mistake? He had allowed her to make the ultimate decision about their marriage. What if, she decided that in the end she wanted something more or something he could not give? His heart pounded frantically and he paced the length of their bedroom. His hands clenched and unclenched into knuckle whitening fists.

He could not lose her.

He loved her.

She was… she was everything and he was wasting to nothing without her. He would do anything to make her see their marriage, their relationship – him was what she wanted. He was pathetically lonely without her. It was a childlike emotion but there was something remarkable about her ability to make him need her. Before her, he rarely allowed anyone to enter his life so openly and create such an impact. He gnashed his teeth and released a heavy breath, fuck – what was he doing? He turned toward the door and reached to yank it off. The voice of his father inwardly mocked and reminded him to never allow a woman so much power. He should never allow himself to become "pussy whipped." Olivia had changed his perspective. She had altered every notion of womanhood that he had grown to understand and even nourish. She explained - his masculinity was not infringed upon by giving her equal power. He did not gain femininity. Instead, it flourished because he was intelligent and kind enough to share what the world had unfairly only divested to him. Their marriage was one of equality, he reminded himself. He was not pussy whipped nor was he pathetic for wanting his wife. He was entitled to love as equally, emotionally and wholly as anyone else.

Before, he could launch himself out the door it squeaked open noisily. He mentally kicked himself, Olivia had told him to grease it weeks ago and he had forgotten. He began to apologize but was silenced when he finally took in her appearance. His cerulean eyes widened in surprise and he swallowed thickly, his wife was standing before him completely nude.

He was asphyxiating from her radiant beauty.

Her coy smile accentuated her dark freshly washed ringlets. The polished lawyer had disappeared and his stunning, curly-haired wife stood before him. She was remarkable. Her petite frame rested against the wooden doorway. Her ankles were crossed politely and she rested her weight on the tips of her toes: a habit she formed from practically living in heels. Her tightly coiled curls sprung closer to her chin and fanned her angelic face. She had divested all clothing. There was no longer any material barrier between his covetous stare and her alluring skin. Swallowing, he bashfully slid a hand through his hair. When he thought back, he could not remember the last time that he had seen her so exposed. Clearing his throat, he parted his lips to speak but found himself at loss for words.

"Fitz," She choked and a hand rose to cover her face.

Stepping forward, he was unsure if he was permitted to enter her personal space. She had unveiled herself to him and the last thing he wished to do was spoil this moment. He pushed away any doubt, nothing was as important as comforting his wife and slid his arms around her. She tucked her face into his chest and openly sobbed. He was genuinely taken aback by her outburst. He had so very rarely ever seen Olivia cry. She shielded her emotions frequently. Tightening his grip of her lithe frame, he clutched her closer. Her fingers knitted in his shirt and yanked him closer to her body. His rough palms rested against the skin of her back. His thumbs tenderly stroked the gentle curve of her back and rested above her derriere. She was so much shorter without her four (often five) inch heels. She was far less imposing now hugging him close and openly sobbing into his wrinkling shirt. He lifted a hand to her hair. Immediately, his fingers were tangled in the web of her curls. His lips lifted in amusement and gently extracted them. Her head tipped back to face him.

"Fitz," She moaned sadly.

Olivia's eyes had darkened from crying. Her expectant gaze rested on him. The large doe eyes awaited his imminent rejection, but how could he reject her? She was all that he ever wanted. Her cheeks were blotchy and pink hues colored them. Her full pout was swollen from chewing it to muffle her sobs. Despite her emotional appearance, he had never witnessed a more beautiful testament to raw emotion than this. Taking a breath, he leaned forward and gently caressed her lips with his. The lightest brush of his lips to hers was electric. His body hummed with excitement and he leaned forward to deepen the kiss. His tongue gently swept over her lips, tasting the light gloss on her lips and lingering tomato from the sauce.

His smile grew: she tasted of home.

Olivia moaned tranquilly and fingers knitted tighter in his shirt to keep him near. The kiss was barely a whisper of their usual feverous kisses but this was exactly what they had needed. They needed to explore, rekindle and learn from their mistakes. In that moment, they both understood that they could not rush this. They could not rush the repair of their relationship. If they wanted this to last and for both parties to understand, they needed to take palliative steps for a genuine repair. For right now, they could enjoy this step forward.

No more looking back.

His hands were restless. Fitzgerald dipped his hands and gently allowed them to wander over the curve of her bum. He firmly cupped her ass and pulled her to him. His slacks barely covered his straining erection. He pressed it against her stomach pointedly and she moaned loudly. Pushing higher onto her toes, she wantonly rubbed her mound against his erection. He nearly lost his footing. His hands anxiously touched her ass, bringing her closer and grinding their bodies together. Fitzgerald choked at the sudden sensation of his wife pressed against him. In return, Olivia choked and swallowed loudly at his thick erection bumping into her mound. Her eyes clenched shut and an expletive flowed from her lips. He chuckled wryly and lifted her from her toes.

A series of moans, unsure who it was, was exchanged. Clasping her ass, Fitzgerald hoisted her around his waist and her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. Her ankles hooked snugly into the curve of his back and pulled him closer. He slowly rubbed circles with his thumbs on the bow of her bum. Olivia's small hands fumbled to unbutton his shirt and he backed them into the wall. Their bodies hit the wall with a loud thud. He pinned her to the wall with his hips and stripped his shirt off with a quick tug. Her brow rose in casual amusement and he winked in reply. She wasted no time to lower her hands to his belt. She took her time pulling the leather strap through the buckle. She twirled it between her fingers and brushed the nose of it against his stomach. He shuddered as she teased him but could not take much.

Pushing her hands away, he tugged at the belt hurriedly and dropped his slacks without further interruption. His cock was leaking precum and had left several wet spots in his briefs where he had earlier rubbed against her mound. He was straining in his briefs. The tip of his cock peaked out of them and rested against his tight abdomen. Her small hand slid between them and grasped his cock tightly. His stomach lurched and he stepped closer in approval. A rough groan tore from his throat and she squeezed his cock harder. He growled possessively and pushed her hand away. Wiggling out of his briefs, he dropped them to the ground and hesitantly stepped out of them.

"If you drop me," She teased with a bright smile, "I'll hurt you."

He cocked a brow challengingly and bounced her within his arms simulating an unpleasant drop. She screeched in surprise and attempted to shoot him an angry, disdainful look save for the permanent smile painting her lips. He chuckled deeply; his laughter was rough and melodic like a deep rumble of thunder. Resting against her warm mound, he reached down and gathered a drop of precum from his tip. Her mouth opened excitedly and tongue extended to swipe the glistening fluid from his fingertip but he stopped her. Instead, his finger touched her full lower lip. Her teeth sunk into his finger sexily and he pulled his hand away in warning. She tilted her chin toward him and parted her lips. Her warm breath fanned on his skin and quickened when he decorated her lips with his precum. Her full pout glistened remarkably and his dick twitched with excitement. Resting against her mound again, he ducked forward and stole a hungry kiss. Their moans intertwined – desperate, hungry and wanton. He growled against her lips, shoving his tongue into her mouth and tasting her with wicked excitement. She shared his enthusiasm, lifting her hips and wantonly grinding against his erection with content purrs.

The kiss ended with a groan of displeasure from both parties. He rested his forehead against hers and broke into a grin. Her smile mirrored his in intensity. She boldly brushed her lips against his and he moaned contently. His hand tangled in her hair and the other cupped her face. Her smile softened to a more demure and coy smile. He returned it and nuzzled her nose with his. Sighing softly, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy his gentleness.

"Hi," She murmured and pecked his lips with hers.

"Hi," He replied.

Lifting his hips, he swiftly entered her warmth and she accommodated him with a whispery breath followed by a desperately strangled moan of pleasure.

'_Home_,' he thought, '_No more looking back_.'


End file.
